For five long minutes they waited. Then sounds began to come from the concourse that led to Drop Bay One. Grace could not make out the words, but she didn’t need to. She’d heard orders being shouted at the merc camps. She’d heard feet moving in unison. Troops were disembarking, forming up. An engine gunned to life, and hoverbikes moved unseen. Deeper down, on the heavy-equipment level, she heard the unmistakable tread of BattleMechs. The building trembled as if a tornado was loose inside it.

The next order she did understand. “Forward, march.”

The tread of a hundred fighters marching in step came up the concourse. Two hoverbikes came out first, their drivers eyeing the group as they circled them. The gunners kept their weapons pointed at the roof, but it was clear that the machine guns rode free on their pintles. A quick bend of the elbow, a twitch of the fingers was all it would take for them to turn deadly.

Running feet added to the noise level as several mayors broke for the rest rooms, some for the second time.

Now marching feet filled the terminal. Two platoons, two companies—Grace had no idea, but there were plenty of hard men and women in khaki with guns held at the ready. They moved as one as they marched into the hall. Behind them marched a small group. Grace didn’t need to be told this was the command group—the Sergeant Major was there, towering like a rock.

Grace spotted him before she recognized the commander. “God damn you, you mercenary bastard,” she breathed, and meant every word of it with a flaming anger that fit her red hair and would get her a long penance from the padre next time she was in town. “God damn you to hell,” she said, “Major Loren J. Hanson.”

Allabad, Alkalurops

Prefecture IX, The Republic of the Sphere

11 August 3134; local summer

L. J. enjoyed the rush. He loved the cadence, the movement of uniformed and armed troops through the military ballet that allowed large numbers to move from one place to another with efficiency and poise. He’d been told by civilians more than once that it was terrifying, but to L. J., it was a thing of beauty.

Then civilians galloped for the latrines. Did they really think he’d shoot them? “Battalion,” he called, to be echoed immediately by “Company,” from the company commanders. “Halt,” he ordered.

The tromp of marching feet cut off like the sound of death itself. Well, maybe there was good reason for civilians to be scared. L. J. stepped forward. He spotted the fool who’d made himself Governor. L. J. didn’t know who his client was, but he wouldn’t give a handful of wet sand for this man’s chances.

“Leaders of Alkalurops, now hear this. I am Major Loren J. Hanson of the Roughriders. I am under contract to conduct the seizure and occupation of your planet. There being no military opposition in evidence, I will consider your planet seized and advance immediately to occupation. Are there any objections?”

He eyed the collection of trembling civilians huddled before him. They seemed hard-pressed to stay on their feet, much less to resist the troops surrounding them. No, not all. That redhead way in the back—she was more mad than scared. She must be from a small town because he didn’t have her picture. She did look familiar, though…

“There being no objections, I am placing Alkalurops under martial law. Violation of any of the articles of this law can and will be punished accordingly, up to and including summary execution. Your ’puters have received a copy of the new laws. Read them. Obey them. Copies are also being posted on your global Net. Note that civil gatherings of more than ten people are now illegal. That means the gabfest at the Guild Hall is over. All civil appointments are now subject to the confirmation of my officers. For now, you mayors will continue to function and maintain civil order. Fail in that and you will be replaced and punished as seems appropriate.” Damn. L. J. had read the riot act to drunk and disorderly troops, to troops on the verge of mutiny. He’d seen more life in the eyes of a two-week-dead dog. How could people call this living?

“If there are no further questions, you are dismissed.”

The mob broke for the doors. In a moment his troops were alone in the echoing hall. Not quite. The sound of one woman walking toward him with the measured tread of a soldier drew his eyes to the redhead. Lovely woman. Be a shame to kill her.

“Redhead is Grace O’Malley, sir,” Topkick said low behind him. “She tried to hire us a short while back on Galatea.”

“I remember her now. Sergeant Major, dismiss the troops to guard duty or work details. Adjutant, see to quartering the troops. XO, oversee the unloading, please.”

The woman approached as the Sergeant Major sent the troops to their duties.

“Should I thank you for not killing us, Major?” she said.

“Wasn’t called for in my op orders, Grace,” he said.

“Thank God and St. Patrick for small favors,” she shot back. “So that was you in the little BattleMech I fought.”

“I’ve never thought of a Koshi as little. Agile. Perfect for a long-range scout or a distant raid. What can I do for you? As you can probably surmise, I have a busy day ahead of me. And you need to get back to a small town up north, don’t you? By the way, if you check Section Two of the new laws, being under arms is a capital crime if you aren’t working for me.”

Grace spread her hands, giving him a good view of a healthy, athletic body in a red dress that clung nicely. “I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not armed. Or do you want to search me?”

“Your outfit has already convinced me that a beautiful and angry miner is unarmed.”

She glared at him for a moment longer, then snapped, “You are a first-class bastard. Are you here to steal more ’Mechs?”

“I remind you that my lineage is fully documented, so the first comment is out of order. And no raiding this trip. We’re taking over. I will, however, confiscate any ’Mechs that are modified for combat.”

She showed red at her cheeks. Her anger made her chest heave, and the divide between her creamy white breasts was eye-catching. L. J. knew women whose company he enjoyed, but he had never let his attraction to a woman interfere with his mission. If he wasn’t careful, this woman could be a first.

“If I may interrupt,” the Sergeant Major said as he stopped at L. J.’s elbow.

“Yes, Sergeant Major.”

“I believe the woman signed on a small group of mercenaries. Quite irregular, no papers filed with the Bonding Commission.”

L. J. nodded. “Since they are not here to resist this landing, I will consider their contract failed and declare it null and void. Ms. O’Malley, please inform your former employees that they have forty-eight hours to present themselves unarmed to one of my officers and begin the process for their deportation. Is there anything about that you do not understand?”

“You’ve made yourself perfectly clear, but I don’t think you are properly briefed on conditions here,” the redhead said, a tiny smile dancing at the edge of her lips. L. J. concluded this woman was not someone he’d want to deal with on a daily basis.

“The men and women who accompanied me here have all filed for homesteads and are taking rather well to the farming life. You can check the Status Records at the Land Office.”

“Farmers,” Topkick spat.

“Have someone check out her story,” L. J. said. “You have been informed of your obligations under martial law. You will not be informed twice, Ms. O’Malley.”

“I wouldn’t think of asking twice,” she said, spun on her heel, and marched tall and straight for the door. L. J. enjoyed the view for two seconds, then turned his back on her and took on the balance of the day’s duties.